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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23480242">Komm, tanz</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wahnsinn/pseuds/Wahnsinn'>Wahnsinn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Rammstein requests [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rammstein</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Love, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 07:55:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,726</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23480242</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wahnsinn/pseuds/Wahnsinn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt "Christoph and Till, domestic life, slow dancing in the kitchen".</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Till Lindemann/Christoph Schneider</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Rammstein requests [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689187</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Komm, tanz</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for a prompt from <a href="https://rammfic.dreamwidth.org/288.html?thread=2336#cmt2336">RammFic</a>: Christoph and Till, domestic life, slow dancing in the kitchen.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>From the kitchen, he could hear Olli’s dark and monotonous bass riff and Flake’s beautiful, haunting keyboard melody. It played for a while, then stopped, then played again, sometimes a long passage, sometimes just a few bars. In between, he could hear a pen scribbling on paper, mumbling, sometimes humming, sometimes a swear word or five.</p><p>Schneider smiled to himself as he sat in the living room, giving Till some privacy to write. He was always happy to retreat from wherever his husband found inspiration. This time, Till had wanted to sit by the tall kitchen table, next to the huge windows facing the street. It was one of his favourite spots. Till liked to look at the people on the street far down below them. He would pick out someone and follow them as they did whatever they were doing, blissfully unaware that someone was observing them. Images would form in his head, images that he could turn into words.</p><p>Flipping through a book, Schneider found himself listening to Till more than actually reading. He appreciated being able to listen in on the work process. Back in the day, he had always wondered how Till could come up with his ingenious lyrics. He always wrote those alone, away from the band. Even after they moved in together, his then boyfriend had retreated to his study and locked the door whenever he wanted to write.</p><p>Schneider never questioned it. Knowing Till, he knew how important it was for him to be able to write under whatever conditions he needed. Though little by little, Till had opened up more, and not long after they got married, he had set up in the kitchen in their new apartment, a renovated penthouse in an old building in former East Berlin.</p><p>Looking up at their wedding photo on the wall, Schneider could still remember what Till had told him when he – baffled to the point where he was speechless – found him by the kitchen table with his laptop and notebook, pen in hand, listening to one of their songs in progress. <i>I have nothing to hide from you, my love</i>, Till had said, tenderness in his voice and with the same smile as the one that shone down on him from the picture of the happiest day in Schneider’s life.</p><p>Sometimes, the drummer found it hard to believe that he wasn’t just living in some fantasy, that he – Christoph Schneider – had managed to steal the heart of Rammstein’s biggest womaniser. Countless times, he had seen Till head off with some random fan from their afterparties, sometimes he didn’t even bother to leave the room. Not that Schneider hadn’t done it himself at times, but he had to admit that often, it was just to distract himself from what Till was doing. More than a few times he had been complimented on his performance after he had taken his frustration out through hard thrusts, always from behind, always imagining that it was Till he had in front of him.</p><p><i>The turn life takes sometimes</i>, Schneider thought, thinking back on that day when he, for once, had decided to leave first, slightly intoxicated, his arm around a fan maybe ten years younger than himself. As he was getting ready to slip away, a strong hand had gripped his wrist and a growl had made the fan take off before Schneider even understood what was going on. As he was cursing Till out, loudly, the vocalist had dragged him into a side room, locked the door, and stopped the curses with a kiss that again turned into more than Schneider could ever have dreamed of.</p><p>A colourful selection of swear words from the kitchen ripped him out from his daydreaming. Putting his book aside, a bit worried, Schneider listened for sounds from Till, but there was nothing – just silence.</p><p>Schneider hesitated. He knew Till preferred not to get disturbed while working, but after five minutes of no sounds at all, he decided to go grab a beer from the fridge so that he could check up on his husband at the same time. After wrestling himself free from the comfortable recliner, he shuffled into the kitchen.</p><p>Till was sitting slumped over the table, head in his hands. A half full bottle of beer was standing next to his laptop. His pen was lying, bent, on the table next to his notebook, which was full of text. At least it did not seem like he was having a writer’s block.</p><p>“How is it going?” Schneider ruffled his husband’s hair as he passed him to get to the fridge, grabbing a bottle from the bottom shelf.</p><p>A quiet groan was the only reply he got.</p><p>“Hey, everything okay?” Worried, Schneider put his beer on the table and wrapped his arms around Till, kissing his neck lightly before resting his head on his shoulder.</p><p>“Yes, but…“ Squeezing his eyes shut, Till rubbed his temples with his thumbs, sighing loudly. “No. I don’t know."</p><p>Schneider didn’t say anything. He just hugged his husband a little tighter, giving him time to decide whether he wanted to talk about it or not. Till didn’t talk much about the writing process, but he was often in a weird mood after a session. Sometimes, he threw himself at Schneider like a wild animal, taking out his lust and desire right there and then. Sometimes, he would stomp to their gym room and punish the punching bag until he was exhausted and dripping of sweat. Sometimes, he would cuddle up to Schneider in the sofa, purring like a kitten and whispering sweet words of nonsense into his ear. Schneider had learned never to expect anything. He just gratefully accepted whatever Till had to offer, providing support however he could.</p><p>Yet this felt a little different. Till was still just sitting there, apathetic, motionless apart from occasionally rubbing his face. Schneider was unsure of what to do, but decided to stay with Till until getting some kind of reaction – any reaction. His arm was falling asleep, so he shifted a bit to find a better position, loosening his hold around Till.</p><p>“Please stay.” Till clutched his hands around Schneider’s, his voice almost a whisper.</p><p>“I’m not going anywhere.” Schneider kissed Till’s cheek softly, and settled in a more comfortable position, arms still wrapped tenderly around his husband.</p><p>“When I write, I…” Till started. His voice broke. Taking a deep breath, he tried again. “When I write, I go into my own private room, close the door behind myself and open my cabinets and drawers. There in hide, in equal amounts, both good and bad stuff that I have to leave behind me once I’ve dealt with them. Otherwise, these thoughts and ideas would probably drive me crazy.”</p><p>Schneider didn’t reply, but made an affirmative sound to let Till know he was listening. In his head, thoughts were racing. Happiness that his partner was sharing this with him was overshadowed by deep concern. Till was a complex person. Schneider had always known about the darkness in him, but he did not know the full extent of it, and how he dealt with it. Most of the time, he only saw the few bits and pieces Till let shine through in his artistic work.</p><p>“The music of this song is haunting, yet innocent at the same time. It made me open a really bad drawer.” Till pulled his notebook a little closer.</p><p>Schneider nodded against Till’s shoulder. He and the other band members knew how Till tried to get into the mindset of people doing bad things. They had discussed it many times. Once, after a bad bout of the press ripping into them, their discussion turned into a heated argument about why Till always had to personify the sickest, most morally reprehensible people he could possibly think of. <i>Don’t pretend this does not exist in the world! It would be cowardly to write it in the third person and put the responsibility on the victim. I am not a coward. Rammstein are not cowards!</i> Till had yelled at them. That had ended the discussion.</p><p>He glanced down at the open notebook. The first lines hit him like a punch in the gut.</p><p>
  <i>Hallo kleines Mädchen<br/>
wie geht es dir?<br/>
Mir geht es gut<br/>
doch spricht nicht zu mir</i>
</p><p>“Oh Till…” Unable to find the right words to say, Schneider just leaned his head against Till’s in support as he read the rest of the lyrics. They were brilliant. While they seemed light, darkness constantly lurked below the surface, the meaning behind the words truly chilling. Schneider remembered how his parents, in his youth, instilled fear in him by telling him stories about bad men luring children into cars with promises of candy of gifts, making him promise never to accept anything from strangers.</p><p>
  <i>Nichts wird danach<br/>
wie früher sein</i>
</p><p>“This is what the music gave me. I am not sure I will be able to use it. The thought of singing this in front of an audience…” Till shook his head. There was so much pain in his voice that Schneider’s heart almost broke for his husband.</p><p>“That is not something you have to decide right now, Till. Let the lyrics rest a bit, then come back to them later when you are not as into this as you are right now.” Releasing Till from the embrace, Schneider stretched his arm to press play on the track on the laptop. Olli’s bass riff filled the kitchen.</p><p>“Come. Let me give you some good memories to associate with this music.” Bowing before his husband, Schneider held out his hand towards Till. “Komm, tanz.”</p><p>Reluctantly, Till took his hand and stood up. Schneider put his husband’s arms across his shoulders before wrapping his own around his waist, pulling him close. Slowly he started moving to the music, leading Till across the wooden kitchen floor.</p><p>As they danced through the song, Schneider felt Till’s body loosen up. “Thank you,” Till mumbled, his cheek warm against Schneider’s, his breath calm. And as the last notes from Flake faded out, it was Till who was unwilling to let go, hugging his husband tightly as the two of them kept dancing slowly to the sound of the quiet buzzing from the fridge and the distant noise from the street outside.<br/>
</p><p><br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Parts of Till's dialogue are actual quotes from interviews he has done about his writing. The lyrics are taken from the Rammstein song Hallomann, which has never been performed live to this date. Translations of the lines used:</p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <i>Hello little girl, how are you?<br/>I am fine, do not talk to me</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>Nothing will be like it used to be</i>
    <br/>
  </p>
</blockquote><br/>Feedback is, as always, appreciated. Thank you for reading.</blockquote></div></div>
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